


LD50

by oddegg



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22451230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddegg/pseuds/oddegg
Summary: It’s amazing how little you can know people, sometimes.
Relationships: Kurt Hummel/Noah Puckerman
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	LD50

It’s business as usual.

You get up, you go to school. You watch guys who you used to call ‘friends’ and ‘team-mates’ sneer at you in the halls and get to dodge slushies like you suddenly became a math nerd or something. You see the eyes of math nerds who used to fear you slide on past like you’re not worth their notice anymore.

You go back home. You listen to your mom telling you yet again what a huge fucking disappointment you are to her and you eat your tv dinner and you watch skeletal thin people with the same eyes and hair and skin as you get killed off by blond guys in fancy uniforms.

Then you go to your room, one last bitter berating from your mom following you up the stairs, and you collapse on your bed and lie on your back and stare unfocused at the ceiling and watch as the cracks in it twist and form symbols that might mean regret if only you could read them.

And then you turn off the light and lie and stare into the darkness until you sleep, or don’t sleep. And then it’s morning.

And it’s business as usual.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

* * *

You get up, you go to school.

You watch the people you tell yourself are your friend’s overlook you in glee and you strap on your guitar and you play in the background yet again.

You watch the girl you loved and lost claw her way back up to her old position and see how her eyes never meet yours anymore. You wonder if it’s because she sees an echo of the baby girl you loved and lost in yours.

You sit next to the boy you call your boyfriend now and try not to see when his eyes follow the blond head of the group’s newest member. Try not to notice that he kisses you more deeply after he’s been watching someone else’s mouth.

You go home, and you don’t bother staying downstairs to be criticized and instead you go straight to your room.

You don’t bother to turn on the light in the first place.

* * *

You struggle to get up. You struggle to go to school.

You trudge your way along the halls and trail from class to class and you wonder when it got to be such a hassle to put one foot in front of the other. When everything started to look so grey.

You watch your ex-best friend garner sympathy for his huge problems of not having everything handed to him on a plate anymore and having a girlfriend who loves him a bit too eagerly.

You overhear as someone tells your boyfriend that you’ve been much quieter lately and hear him say yes, you’re obviously maturing. Isn’t it nice?

You go home and you spend the night in your room searching for answers on the internet that turn out to be so much simpler than the questions you were asking.

So much simpler that they’d scare you, if you felt like you could care.

* * *

You wonder if you should bother getting up.

You nearly don’t bother going to school.

(Who would miss you, after all?)

You slump in your seat in glee and you listen as your ex-best friend gets anxiously worried over by his girlfriend because he’s taken a couple more painkillers for his football bruises than he should and you can’t help it.

You laugh (and it’s been so long the sound surprises you) and you see her indignant face as she turns to you and you can’t help laughing more. It’s so very stupid.

And there’s something wrong with your hearing because your laughter sounds odd. Or maybe it’s that there’s something wrong with your laughter because they’re all

turned to you now and their expressions look strange and oddly worried so you explain the joke to them.

That two more painkillers are nothing. That the lethal dose for someone of his body weight is much higher than that. Have to be at least three packs to be sure of an OD, you tell them.

Your boyfriend asks you how you know that, and it’s weird but his voice sounds scared.

You worked it out, you tell him. For your own body weight.

It was easy enough to work out. So simple.

But you can’t work out why he’s looking at you like that now.

Or why he suddenly looks so broken.


End file.
